Belle Winifred and Hawkeye Pierce, a nurse and surgeon in M*A*S*H unit 4077 in Korea, came out of an exhausting surgery session into the cold November night air. Hawkeye looked around at the compound in disgust, the well worn dirt clearing, the drab olive green tents, the other tired people stumbling out of surgery (all in uniforms that matched the tent)...

"I hate this place," he muttered to his girlfriend. "I'd rather be anywhere else. Anywhere in the world."

"You shouldn't say that," Belle scolded gently. "There's worse situations. Would you rather be a soldier at the front?"

"At least then I would be unconscious for surgery," he muttered in reply.

"You can't possibly mean that! What about the pain? What if you lost an arm, or a leg? Or your life?"

"That could still happen here.."

"And you hate fighting. Don't you, Hawkeye? Or can you glorify that too?"

He didn't answer.

"Hawkeye, how can you find the good in everyone else's lives, but be so pessimistic about your own?"

Once again, he didn't answer. By that time, they had gotten to Hawkeye's tent, dubbed the Swamp.

"Tomorrow is Thanksgiving," Belle went on quietly. "It would be good of you to think of something to be thankful for. It'll make you feel better-"

Hawkeye had had it. "How would you know?" he shouted. "It might make me feel worse! I know you feel this way sometimes so why can't you just try to understand?"

He turned away from her and went into his tent, expecting her to follow him in. But she didn't.

A sudden wave of loneliness swept over him. What had he done? He was only angry because she was right and he wasn't in the mood for being wrong. But now he was even more wrong than he was before.

Terrific, he thought. Well, the least I can do is do what she wanted me to do.

He began to try to think of something he was thankful for.

Let's see... I'm in a foreign country in a foreign continent trying to put the war battered bodies of people back together only to have them go back out and fight all over again. The only family I have is all the way in Maine. My love may never talk to me again.

A fresh wave of despair swept over him. Maybe I'll sleep on it. He lay down wearily on his cot. That's another thing. This mattress makes crackers look thick and luxurious.

"Anyone, anywhere in the world has to have a better life than me," he said to himself as he drifted off to sleep.